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Into My Flesh(pot)

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There, where fear as an ardent dick
Enters the fathomless vagina of superstitious
There, where some are creators
And others are destructors
There is consumer existence in this
Acquired and artificial instincts:
The black universe of my indifference
White virginity of my impartiality
Preconceived holy ointment shedding
Covered with hoar frost hypochondria
My compassion inseminated by macrophages
Dim reflection in tile
All roads lead to morgue, grinding of ungreased hinges
Modest monastery, purgatory for the mortal flesh
I can predict the past, reading ripped guts
The grace is deeper than the mother's womb
Hopeless pathology, smell of formalin
You won't be my guest for long, my silent wanderer
I will take you apart piece by piece
I was looking for your soul
But found only dead organic matter
I found only the disfigured traces
Of life while searched for your soul